Blightcross: A Novel (37 page)

“What makes you think I did this? And when did this become your city?”

“I am the Leader. I ask the questions, not the prisoner.” The floor rumbled, glass chattered. “They'll destroy everything. Call them off. Do whatever it takes to stop this.”

“Again, I say, what makes you think I have this power?”

Rovan slapped him across his jaw. Helverliss could only answer with a laugh.

“Your giants will eventually destroy this tower, and you along with it. Do you want to die, Mr. Helverliss?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Rovan blinked. Oh, the ignorance of youth, how the boy must be trying to understand how anyone could invite death...

Give him a few more years of pointless existence, and maybe he would figure it out.

“They warned me about you. Your tricks, your evil philosophies and stupid theories. Thinking men, men who sit around with their thumbs up their asses while people like me go out and make a real difference... and after it all, you don't even care enough for yourself to live?” He kicked Helverliss' shin. “Call off your giants.”

“I can't help you, Rovan.”

Rovan's miserable frown faded, and he leaned against the wall next to Helverliss. “The shadow men are grateful for what you did, you know.”

“I imagine they are. Too bad I meant for them to kill me, and for my death to pull them into oblivion forever.”

“You are like them, in the end.” Rovan paused, turned his head as though listening. “They want to restructure, to establish order.”

So now the shadow men were talking through the boy? Did they think he would be more likely to listen if they approached him indirectly? And through an arrogant teenager, no less?

Rovan continued, despite Helverliss' bored, annoyed demeanour. “Their order will not be chaos, like this one. Nature would be tamed, and especially human nature. Would it not be better to structure our world on
values
, rather than random occurrences? The shadows have values. They exist for their own sake. They are the height of life as we know it... and they offer this same thing to us.”

“Big words for an uneducated Ehzeri.” And when he braved the soreness and looked up, his heart leapt at the sight of Rovan's featureless eyes—black, glaring orbs.

Rovan's voice changed into a more mature, generic voice: the same as the shadow man who had visited earlier. “This world is unknowable to you. We can make one that is knowable. One you can pick apart and truly understand, instead of discovering new ways to describe your own inability to do so.”

Now this was interesting: philosophical debates with the shadow men. Almost interesting enough to put up with living for a while longer. “It's a trick, your offer. You may not be lying to me, but you probably understand that such a world cannot exist with humanity in it. Therefore it may be knowable to me, but I am still unable to know it, since you will eventually kill me in the process.”

“We need people to aid us in forming the structure. Would you not help us?”

“Create a shadow world, void of movement? A world that only exists to exalt the existence of yourselves?” He laughed. “It's almost as ridiculous as the world we already have.”

“An artist who refuses to create; you really are a failure. No wonder the universities think you are mad.”

“Not mad, shadow man, but merely an idiot.” His amusement began to wane, and Rovan's stupid face was beginning to grate on his nerves. “Listen, shadow. The fire giants will not relent or go away until both them and your comrades are destroyed at once. Neither side can win, because you are the same entity.”

Rovan, or the shadow controlling him, calmly turned away and strode to the exit. “Perhaps the reason you fail is because you refuse to acknowledge what you can really do.” And without waiting for a reply, the boy was gone.

Now he began to wonder if his own thoughts had been delusions. Had he or had he not summoned the giants? No, they must have come on their own. They must have appeared in answer to the shadows.

And did it matter? Did he really want to end the destruction?

Blightcross was a cancer upon the world, and had stifled his ideas for decades. Perhaps this was simply justice dispensed by the cosmos.

To Capra, the past few minutes had dragged for an hour. But luckily, ahead lay a faint glimmer of light. She locked her gaze to it, and her vision tunnelled like the very chamber in which she crawled.

How ironic that her tunnelled vision actually comforted her—the less she could actually sense the stone around her, the better. But she still felt afraid. Afraid because she couldn't find, of all people, Alim. Had he already made it through?

That must be the case. She slid along faster now, in the hope that she would find Alim standing in the hallway, where she would beat him senseless for leaving her. It was just like him to toss her into her greatest fear head-first. Now that she thought of it, he had done the same thing a decade ago, at the school's swimming pool, when she had been too hesitant to jump from the diving board.

She still hadn't gotten him back for that.

She reached the point of light and peered below into a hallway. On the floor lay a picture frame, now cracked. Vague sounds filtered up to her, but she couldn't identify the voices.

And, no Alim.

Slip out just a little more—

There, just turning the corner. Where was he going? And who was the person with him?

Alim walked calmly, and so did the person beside him. They disappeared before she could make any sense of it. She wanted to call out to him, but something in her gut told her not to.

That same something also told her not to count on Alim any longer.

She didn't need a partner anyway. How many times had she breached high-security keeps and vaults alone? Countless times. Granted, there had been no giants trying to burn away a swarm of shadows and destroy everything else in sight, but other than that...

After waiting a few moments to make sure the hall was clear, Capra slid out of the conduit. Except she hadn't put any thought into the maneuver, and tumbled head-first to the floor.

She rolled and recovered, then trotted silently through the corridor. As she began her search, she remembered Dannac's eye, and quickly tied it with the necklace that belonged to her amulet. Dannac could capture his images, and it would stay out of her way.

A few steps down the hallway, she stopped for a moment. It was the mirrors—all along each wall there hung mirrors in flat silver frames. She had found more elaborate pieces in a rundown pub. In the reflection of one, she found the infinity created by the mirror on the wall opposite.

Strange tastes, that Sevari. On one hand, the tower seemed excessive and opulent, but on the other, its stark, functional, and sometimes classical design was the antithesis of the vibrant modern styles she had grown used to on the continent. But it must have had its charm, since Capra spent several seconds staring into that infinity of reflections. Damn, wasting time, and in a mirror, no less. Time to move.

But where to go?

Never mind—this hall only led in one direction.

She startled at a freezing draft across her back. Spun around, ready to kill.

“What the...” she muttered to herself.

Since there appeared to be nothing there, she continued down the corridor. A drop of sweat stung her eye, and she cursed the heat. If only that cold breeze was real.

The mirrors. She couldn't escape them. Every two or three steps, they confronted her with polished clarity. What was their purpose? The other hall was decorated with romantic paintings of wars and revised history. These mirrors made no sense, and the strange feeling of being watched by these frames reminded her of the time she had fallen into Helverliss' painting.

A shriek screamed like nails across glass, and she clapped both hands to her ears. She jammed to a stop and turned around. Still, there was nothing. Nothing but a ringing in her ears, thanks to the deafening screech. Echoes of the unearthly sound raced through her skin as gooseflesh.

That had to be something.

When she turned to leave, the mirror showed something different. A dark female. Capra gasped and jumped back, only to realize that the other mirror showed the same thing.

But it wasn't just a dark female. It was Capra. A negative image, with ruby eyes glowing from some ungodly fire behind them.

They had to be joking. What the hell was this? She was stuck between being sickened by the dark double and intrigued.

She broke through her paralysis and bolted through the hall of mirrors. A pressing urge to blind herself, to not look anywhere near the mirrors. Ghouls, perverted images, all around.

And now out of the mirror.

Standing in the middle of the hall, the dark version of Capra grinned sardonically and played with a knife identical to hers.

The real Capra skidded just shy of the ghoul. The living mirror image made her stomach clench.

“What are you?”

It didn't answer. Instead, it switched the knife between its hands and gestured mockingly. And the encounter became another rip in the universe, another baffling experience, just as Helverliss' painting had made her feel.

Shit, this was probably his own work, or at least a derivative stolen by Sevari. And here she thought that the clock tower was impenetrable because it was full of guards. She could only dream of fighting tired watchmen now.

The ghoul lunged and tackled her. Its only sound was a glassy shriek like before, and the jutting pain between her ears alone nearly disabled her. But when the ghoul stabbed for her throat, Capra caught its arms. She couldn't overpower it, arms shaking against the attacker's strength. The eyes, damned eyes, such a distraction, as if they knew everything about her...

She slipped her knee into the ghoul's hip and pushed it into the wall. Ghouls—how was she supposed to fight an apparition?

Run.

She took off down the hall. There had to be some kind of limitation to the mirrors, some effective range—

Smack. Right into the ghoul, and for a second, she stood, chest touching her opponent's, and stared into its gaze. It couldn't be a person. It was a thing made living, an abomination, and it wanted to kill her.

Goddamn you, Helverliss.

She struck it across the jaw. It grinned, and planted a lazy kick right into her chest, sending her to the floor. It wasted no time in grabbing her by the collar and slamming her against the wall. Capra swallowed a mouthful of blood and slammed her knee into its gut. Its grip loosened some, but she still couldn't rip free.

It screeched at her, and underneath these aural claws Capra heard a whisper.
Stupid selfish slut.

Capra spat in its face. It licked the bloody mess from its mouth and grinned more.

“You may look like me,” Capra said. She then tossed aside her attacker. “But you don't know shit.” While the thing lay on the ground, writhing in confusion, she kicked it in the head.

But she could kick and stab all night long. This was one of Helverliss' creations, and it would only fall by some other means. All along the wall next to the mirror, she groped and pressed and tried to think of a way to disable this guardian-ghost.

It was here that she found a diptych between two mirrors. One painting showed a red circle interlocked with a black one, and the companion picture showed a reverse image. It had to mean something. Sevari didn't seem to appreciate decorative art.

Before she could figure it out, the ghoul snatched her legs and yanked them from under her, and her jaw smacked on the floor. Her vision sparkled, and she cursed under her breath.

She twisted free and rushed back to the wall. The ghoul slammed her into it, pressed her face against the stone which surprised her with its warmth. There had to be magic running through the walls.

An icy breath beat on her neck. In the margins of her vision she saw the ghoul's mouth open. Fangs, like a desert viper. She drove her elbow into its rib. Despite the reassuring crack, her attacker answered with hardly a flinch.

The two little paintings—they had to be the key. If only she could reach them, but with her hand pinned and the thing's teeth edging towards her face...

There was no time. Whatever happened was going to happen, and so she cracked her attacker in the ribs once more to buy a few seconds. With the knife she slashed at the canvas, then tore it apart. She groped in the eviscerated picture frame and found a metal knob.

A combination lock.

“You have got to be kidding me. Fuck.”

The ghoul's grip tightened. Capra spun the knob at random, but her own scattered heartbeat made it impossible to feel out the clicks and work out the code. Ice against her neck. And claws. The thing had claws. They were now digging into her ribs.

She yelped. Elbowed it again, and it staggered back. Leaped at it, plowed it with her shoulder into one of the mirrors. The next thing she knew, she smacked face-first into the mirror, leaving a greasy streak, and hit the ground.

The ghoul had flown through the other mirror, and was already recovering and ready to resume the fight.

She hitched herself up and dashed to the combination lock. Now more than before, her body's adrenaline scream silenced the finer senses she needed to unlock it. The next best thing—use the knife to unscrew the panel. At least Sevari had skimped on building materials. But what about the ghoul?

An idea knocked into her head like so many cheap shots. It might work. It sounded stupid to her rattled brain, but it was all she had.

She left her mechanical work for the time being and pressed her shoulder against a stone pedestal that sat against the wall. She grunted under its weight and slid it against the mirror. It reached about half-way up the glass. Once satisfied with its placement, she rushed to the ghoul and punched it in the throat. It reeled, and Capra let fly a kick, which sent it again into the far mirror. Just as she thought, the ghoul disappeared into the mirror. A second later, it came out of the one opposite, and tumbled over the pedestal Capra had placed there. She rushed to the dazed ghoul, and with all her strength toppled the pedestal. It fell across the ghoul's chest.